


Gimme Just one Look

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Bonded!Boys [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Psychic Bond, Romance, Sibling Incest, Soul Bond, Wincest - Freeform, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: 100-2.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 16:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bonded!Boys, out of the closet and trying to cope.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme Just one Look

"Dibs on first shower," Dean announces the second they step back into the sanctuary of their motel room. It's a bitchy thing to do, and he knows it. He got slimed, sure, but Sam got hit a hell of a lot worse. Dean's whole body twitches in sympathy at the sight of yellow goo drying in Sam's hair and crusting along his arms and chest.

But this isn't about fairness and shower-dibs equity. This is about getting in and out of the shower before Sam's turn so that he can make a break for it while his brother is getting clean.

He doesn't plan to go far, of course. He can't, for one thing—the curse binding them together prevents him. And he doesn't want to ditch Sam or anything, he just… needs a little space. He needs to find somewhere grassy and quiet—easy enough since it's about two in the morning—that he can sit for awhile and do his best not to think.

He's guarding his thoughts carefully now. The second their prey was dead, Dean put his walls back up so hard that his head is still throbbing. Sam's probably freaking out, but Dean doesn't worry about that as he shucks his coat and shoes and shuffles hurriedly into the bathroom.

He showers fast, barely enough of a rinse to get the drying slime off his skin, and then puts on the same pants and t-shirt he's been wearing all day. He ditches the long-sleeved button-up, though. The thing's probably not salvageable, and he definitely doesn't want to put the rancid thing anywhere near his skin.

"All yours," he says as he steps back into the room, and Sam is past him faster than a blink, slamming the door and leaving Dean to execute his plan in peace. Dean yanks on a clean set of sleeves and gives his freshly-slimed coat a sad look. At least it wasn't his leather jacket. He doesn't think this sucker's salvageable either.

He steps outside without a coat. It's brisk and breezy, just uncomfortable enough to offer a distraction, and he walks around the building and towards the sparse stand of trees behind it. Grass and leaves crunch beneath his boots, and through the trees he finds a rundown park full of rusty playground equipment and oddly-spaced picnic tables. He picks a table buried in the shadows of a large tree—even the revealing wash of moonlight doesn't touch it.

Dean sits on the bench with his legs kicked out across the grass, his elbows resting on the table behind him and his back slouching tiredly. He reinforces his mental shields, and does his best not to think about anything.

The problem with blocking Sam out is that the dam works both ways. He can't read anything off his brother when he's got his own walls up this strong, so he gets no warning beyond the sound of footsteps to signal that Sam is approaching.

"So we're going to _not_ talk about it, then," says Sam. He sits beside Dean on the bench and mirrors his pose.

"Seems like the smart way to go," Dean mutters. Incest and curses and telepathic bonds… he'd just as soon keep pretending it all away. But already it's taking more effort to keep his shields up, to keep Sam _out_ , and it's not like they can put this off forever.

"Or you could talk to me _now_ , instead of an hour from now when we're both too tired to keep our thoughts to ourselves."

"How come you're not freaking out about this?" Dean demands. He locks Sam with a hard, heavy look, but his brother doesn't so much as squirm under the scrutiny.

"Because in the big scheme of things, does it really matter? Look at all the shit we've done wrong in the last few years, dude. _This_ ," he says—gesturing between them in a vague wave that somehow encompasses everything from the unwanted bond to their exchange in the janitor's closet just hours before. "On the scale of things we've fucked up, this doesn't come anywhere near the Apocalypse."

Dean has to admit his brother has a point.

"So, what then?" he asks. "You want to be boyfriends? Wanna go pick out rings? Maybe look at china patterns?"

"Fuck that," says Sam. "Can't we just say something profound like, 'It is what it is,' and then see what happens?"

"You sure you're going to be okay with that?" Dean hedges. "Thought you hated doing things without a plan."

"I figure I can afford to make an exception," Sam says, expression going dark and heavy. "So can I kiss you or what?"

Dean double-takes and stares for a moment, trying to find his voice through the tightness suddenly clogging his chest and throat.

"Yeah," he finally manages. His voice feels husky and rough.

Sam doesn't move in all at once, fast and intent the way Dean has seen him move on girls. He opts for a more cautious approach—maybe worried that Dean will change his mind, or maybe all too conscious of the gravity of the situation—this isn't something they get to take back if things don't work out. Dean's not even sure he's still breathing as Sam's hand touches his face, palm curving around his jaw and inviting him to lean closer. Dean accepts the invitation, and his lips part on the barest hint of a breath.

When Sam kisses him, Dean's walls fall away. He was getting tired of holding onto them anyway, and now he's not sure which is more intense: the warm press of Sam's mouth or the surge of mingled want he feels pulsing in his head.

Dean parts his lips at the first hint of Sam's tongue, and his brother's cautious approach shatters to pieces. Sam surges against him, getting a commanding hand around the back of Dean's head and taking the kiss deeper, harder, more demanding. Dean groans and lets his brother in—lets Sam take everything he wants and more, wondering all the while how long his brother has thought about doing this.

' _Years_ ,' comes Sam's voice in his head, frantic and eager.

' _Fuck, Sammy_.' Dean's hands tangle in Sam's shirt, trying to drag him closer even though there's already no measurable space between them. He can see so many things in his brother's thoughts—so many secret, stifled moments just like the ones Dean has been repressing since Sam stumbled back into this life. They've wasted so much time, missed so many opportunities, fuck, they could've been doing this for years. Dean can't remember now why it seemed like such a bad idea.

"Okay," Sam gasps, aloud this time, and Dean grunts in disapproval at losing the kiss. Sam holds him at a distance, despite the fire flashing in his eyes and the hunger Dean can still feel so clearly beneath his brother's skin.

"You better have a good reason for stopping," Dean grouses, eyes narrowing.

Sam laughs, and Dean feels the sound all the way down to his bones. It makes him feel light and terrified all at once.

"Dean," Sam says, calm and reasonable. "It's freezing out here. I don't know about you, but I'd rather continue this inside."

"Oh," Dean says dumbly. "Yeah. I guess that makes sense."

' _Come on_ ,' Sam smiles, standing from the bench and tugging Dean up by the hand.

Dean follows obediently toward the room, and he doesn't once try to pull his hand free of Sam's grip.

Back inside, with the door locked and the chain in place behind them, Dean feels lightheaded with anticipation. There's an impossible, eager flame burning between them, and for all that Dean has always been gentle with his women, he discovers he really enjoys the way Sam manhandles him out of his clothes and down to the bed.

They don't do much that night. It's all too new and intense, and Dean's never been sharing a _brain_ with someone while fucking them—or while rubbing uncoordinatedly against them, as the case may be. It's a quick buildup to overload, double the sensations and Sam staring him in the eyes, hard and hungry, until neither of them can take it anymore and Dean closes his eyes, throws his head back and comes.

The bond feels different after that, muted and somehow more manageable. Like maybe they _did_ just overload the circuit, and though the connection is still there—strong and stubborn and just as indelible as ever—Dean feels for the first time in months like he can hear himself think.

Not that he's in the mood to do much thinking right now. Sam lets him stand up to find a washcloth for cleanup, but as soon as Dean gets back to the bed he finds himself tugged down and maneuvered until he's curled against Sam's chest, caught inescapably in the circle of his brother's arms.

' _Freak_ ,' he thinks, and smiles at the way it makes Sam's chest shake beneath his cheek, laughter bubbling up and over.


End file.
